


The Demon's Hand

by DreamingAngelWolf



Series: A Deck of Stories [11]
Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Assassination
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-14
Updated: 2013-03-14
Packaged: 2017-12-05 05:59:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/719685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DreamingAngelWolf/pseuds/DreamingAngelWolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is said that actions speak louder than words. Sometimes, actions need to be quieter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Demon's Hand

**Author's Note:**

> Part of my Card Writing series. I pick a card, and based on it's values, I write a page.
> 
> Card picked: Ace of Clubs
> 
> Clubs = a crowd  
> Ace = death.

There were many ways for an assassin to kill his target, and almost all of them required stealth. Stealth, of course, meant being unnoticed even in very noticeable situations, and, as luck would have it, his predecessors had designed a weapon for each and every noticeable situation.

Ezio took stock of his current predicament; his target – some Englishman who was poking his nose in too many wrong places – had stopped amidst a crowd to listen to the cries of a priest who had taken it upon himself to warn people of a demon roaming Firenze. He was clearly amused by the old man’s warnings, and Ezio himself smiled at the irony of circumstance. Little did the priest know, but his ‘demon’ was about to strike again.

Striding forward, Ezio adopted an air of casual determination, just another nobleman with a place to go but no real need to be there any time soon. Now that the crowd had spread across his side of the plaza, he had no choice but to go through it. Oh, what a nuisance. Muttering quiet apologies to a few of the bystanders, he gently pushed and nudged his way through the mass of bodies, keeping his target in his line of sight. When he neared, he tripped, stretching his arms out to stop himself and grabbing on to the Englishman’s shirt sleeve in the process. “My apologies, friend,” he said, moving past him calmly and continuing onwards until he broke free of the herd.

Slipping down an alleyway, he wasted no time in scaling the nearest building and gaining a rooftop view of the crowd he’d just passed through. Ezio had a natural affinity for heights, even after the years had turned him from a boy into a man, and from where he perched on the edge of the terracotta tiles he could see the entire plaza laid out before him – but he was only interested in the Englishman, who every now and again kept fidgeting and rubbing his arm.

Time trudged by, and the priest rambled on to an ever-growing crowd. The target was beginning to stand out now, his arm randomly jerking out in odd spasms and irritating people close by him. Gradually, the tick spread to his shoulder, then over his torso, his head, his other shoulder, until his whole body collapsed with the severity of his sudden-sprung condition. People around him exclaimed, pushing to get away from the possessed fool, either out of fear of being possessed themselves or merely to prevent their shins from being bruised. Finally, the man’s suffering concluded with a loud, inhuman cry forced out from his throat, limbs locking mid-flail before losing their structure; his head met the earth with an audible thump, and the crowd screamed. 

“Behold!” the priest wailed. “The demon – he has struck again beneath our very noses, in front of our own eyes! He is a messenger, a foreshadower, a warning of the future to come – he is the assassin of our Lord!”

The Lord’s assassin smiled on the rooftops, standing calmly and turning his back on the quickly dispersing crowd. From the streets below he heard the terror of Firenze’s good citizens, spreading the priest’s words faster than the waters of the Arno and infecting others with the seeds of panic. The Englishman, limbs outstretched, eyes closed, was now the most serene person in the plaza.

Ezio, of course, did nothing to stem the flow of hysteria below him. The people were right to believe in an invisible, murderous demon; they were just wrong in fearing him. With time, they would see.

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little 'filler' whilst I do my best to actually finish any outstanding pieces (and there are a few, along with one yet-to-be-finished-but-will-be-before-I-post-it draft). My first Ezio piece, too! I know it's not exactly how the poison blade works in the game, but I hope it's still a good representation of its useage. 
> 
> Anyway, I'll get back to bigger fanfics now...


End file.
